I toe the gravel with my boot and listen to the hoppers clicking in
the dry grass. I've been up since 3:30 am and after 6 hours behind
the wheel we've finally just rolled to a stop. Just a few steps away
from the car and I can here the soft muffle of the water at the
bottom of the canyon, its pull is strong and I contemplate telling
the guy I'm with "I'll just see you down there".
Instead I open another bottle of water and take a big pull. The
sun is hot and I'm trying to be proactive.
The water sloshes around in my gut as we navigate our way down
the canyon's steep edges.
Our day at the bottom plays out better than we hoped as we
looked at maps, confirmed rumors and made sure the attractor
box was stuffed.
Some rivers are dangerous because they can drown you. Others
are dangerous because pool after pool, they beckon you further
upstream. So you go on and on concentrating on yet another
chubby eater instead of the dropping sun.
We barely get out of the canyon by dark.
We don't start a fire. Instead, we just put up the tent, eat cold
sandwiches and swat mosquitoes. We sit in the dark, laughing
and shaking our heads at the day we just spent on that ribbon of
water now far below.
My sleeping bag feels epic as I lay down. I close my eyes and drift
off listening to all the nothing outside.
We wake up early and drink gritty coffee while we go over a plan
to check on a tailwater that is close by. It's another day of catching
more fish than two people really deserve. At times I start to feel a
little greedy, but I swallow that greed and know that these are the
memories that can pull a person through the long winter lurking
just around the corner.
Heady Material
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